Ganymede Station Pt. 01

I was completely out of breath as I watched Deacon's face in the low light of the room. He closed his eye and opened it again sleepily. He was staring right at me but might still have been asleep and dreaming for all the reaction he gave me. I was finally tired myself and tucked his softening cock back into his briefs before I headed back to bed.

The following morning, I'll admit to being incredibly nervous about facing Deacon. Would he remember anything? Would he be angry? I had taken to sleeping with my head under my pillow so the morning neon wouldn't bother my sleep, but today I was awake before the sign even buzzed to life. In spite of this fact I laid where I was. I couldn't make myself face the man. If I had ruined our friendship, if he remembered everything I had done... I had no idea how he would respond. Why couldn't I just control my damn libido? I stayed in bed, playing out every imaginable scenario until I heard the shower running. He hadn't stormed into my room to throw me out, maybe it was okay?

I dressed and moved out into the living room. I poured myself some of the juice I had purchased the night before and drank some. It didn't go down smoothly on account of my nervous stomach. At last, while I waited, Deacon emerged from the washroom wrapped in a towel. He didn't notice me right away and was whistling a tune. He seemed to be in a cheerful mood. Though what really caught my attention was his chest and eye. The most I had seen him undressed was in a shirt and underwear, this was the first time I had seen him with a bare torso and without his eyepatch. He was furry, thick black hair covered much of his front, but his right pectoral muscle was silver and flattened. I realized he was augmented in some way, it looked like there had been a massive amount of replacement surgery performed on his chest. It didn't look like a clean job either, pink scar tissue surrounded the metal pieces. His right eye was missing and instead there seemed to be more scar tissue there as well. At last Deacon noticed me leaning against the far side of the kitchen counter.

"Cheyne!" He exclaimed in surprise. "I thought you had left for the day, you never wake up after me! Sorry, I uh, need to get dressed!"

He quickly scuttled over to the end of the couch, opposite his chair where he had his clothes piled. As he poked around the heap I noticed that there was more scarring on his shoulder and some extending to his back. I had never seen damage like that before, I didn't even know how Deacon could have gotten so injured. When he found some clothes he quickly dashed back to the washroom to dress. He re-emerged shortly after, fully clothed and wearing his signature black eyepatch.

"Sorry." He said bashfully.

"It's okay, Deacon." I said sincerely. "What happened?"

He frowned and sat down heavily on the sofa. He folded his hands in his lap. "An accident, a long time ago." He stated.

"Everything alright? It looks like it was pretty bad." I ventured.

"I'm fine. I just, don't like people seeing it. I can't fully hide the one on my face, but at least I can wear a shirt over these." He said, indicating with his hand the scars over his chest and shoulder. "I don't... really like talking about them."

I nodded my understanding. "That's fine, I won't make you."

"Thanks." He replied.

I still stood in the kitchen while Deacon sat on the couch. Silence filled the small apartment for a handful of long minutes. I hesitated, but I couldn't stand not knowing about last night. I decided to try to be direct.

"How did you sleep?" I asked candidly.

"Fine." Was the short reply.

"Oh good, I slept pretty well too." I felt relief wash over me.

Deacon folded his fuzzy arms over his chest, leaned back and gave me a knowing look. "Yeah? All that cum in your belly make you sleepy or something?"

My eyes widened and embarrassment flooded over my face.

"What?" Deacon asked. "I might be a drunk, but you think I don't know what it feels like to have my dick sucked?"

My mouth gaped open and closed, like a fish. "W-what do you... are you mad?" I stammered nervously.

"Kid, you've made it clear to me that you're interested, though I don't really get why. And look, I'm kind of a hermit, I don't get that much sexual attention. It felt good, I let it happen. That's pretty much it." He explained.

"I see..." I said slowly.

"You had fun too right?" He asked, catching me off-guard. "Saw your stuff on the front of the couch this morning."

I let out a startled laugh. "Yeah, of course I did! I'll, clean that up. So is that... something you might want to do again?" I asked hopefully.

Deacon scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully. "Maybe. I mean, if it made us both feel good, why not?"

It was all I could do not to dance with glee. I settled for clapping my hands together. His head snapped over to look at me quizzically.

"Heh, sorry." I said in the calmest voice I could manage. "Just, I'm looking forward to it."

The rest of the day suddenly felt brighter to me, more exciting than any had previously. Deacon went to work, I also decided to leave the apartment, taking my sketchbook with me. There was one spot in Ganymede where I liked being when I wasn't overly worrying about money or anything else in my life. Before reaching the spaceport there is a small area the original developers had left to add some natural beauty to the station. It wasn't more than a quarter of a block in diameter, but there was real grass, some shrubs and three tall trees I think I read were Alder. There was rarely anyone here, folks on Ganymede were too caught up in their own daily routines to come out here, hell, I usually was too. There were two benches at the edges of the parklet, but that wasn't where I liked to spend my time. The Alder tree in the back grew up very close to a one-story high hardware store. I scaled the tree easily, we scarbarethen are very dextrous, and landed on the sloped roof of the shop. I was mostly hidden by the leafy treetop here and could lie down on the warm metal roof. Overhead there were bright sun-mimicking lights that helped the plants grow.

I opened the art book into my lap and sighed contentedly to myself. When was the last time I had felt this good about anything? I liked living with Deacon, he was kind to me, but it was more than that too, he cared about me. I recognized that he was lonely and wouldn't refuse my advances anymore, well, hopefully. I realized I came on pretty strong and might have to pull back a little to let him be more comfortable. He didn't feel about me like I did about him, I didn't even think he liked men in the way that I did. I remembered the pictures of women in his bedroom, I should ask him about them at some point. I had let it go this long without asking, I think, because I didn't want to know who they were to him. It was naive and immature of me to want him all to myself, but it didn't stop me from feeling the way I did. Not only had Deacon become my friend, he took care of me, something I had always wanted. There was nothing more attractive to my way of thinking.

As I sat there, a leaf tugged away from a bending branch overhead and drifted down, landing between two open pages. I blinked and lifted it in my slender, clawed fingers, rotating it and marveling at its bright green coloring. I tucked it into the book and pressed the cover down, then I reopened the book to that page and started to sketch the tree before me. There wasn't real wind in Ganymede, but there were large air filtration systems pumping oxygen and nitrogen through that caused the trees and grass to dance, ever so gently. It was the only thing close to natural beauty here and I had missed stopping by occasionally. Beneath my perch a man and woman stopped into the tiny park, holding hands. They sat down on a bench, side by side and she laid her head against his shoulder. There was a sharp pang in my chest as I quietly observed them. Was that something Deacon would let me try, I wondered. I decided I wouldn't force myself on him tonight, unless he initiated. Whatever it was that I had with the marshall was becoming increasingly important to me. I hoped I could keep from screwing it up for at least a little while longer.

CHAPTER 6.

The next morning I was excitedly bouncing around the apartment while Deacon was making breakfast. He gave me a shake of his head when he caught me staring at him for the twentieth time in the last half an hour.

"Cheyne, what is up with you this morning?" He asked in a sleepy voice.

I made a sort of dumb smirk and shrugged, holding my hands behind my back.

"Maybe I was wondering when you wanted to fool around with me again?" I mentioned hopefully.

He looked at me in disbelief as he poured a drink for himself. "Well, I don't know, I guess when I'm in the mood again." He responded.

"When is that? You ready now?" I asked, goading him.

He frowned. "I'm not rising to your bait, kid. Look, I just woke up, I'm not usually in the mood in the mornings. You need to just calm down a little. I'm still not totally sure about this." He said, leveling a serious glare at me. "Anyway, why don't you come down to the precinct with me today? Maybe see about that interview?"

I scratched behind one of my large ears thoughtfully. "Sure, I didn't know it would be so fast."

"Well, I don't want you to get bored, and hey, nice to get a real job, right?"

"It's just an interview." I reminded him.

Deacon's eyebrows raised. "Weeell, it is, but it might be a sure thing. The police chief sort of owes me a favor so I called it in." He explained.

I tilted my head, curious. "You called in a favor for me? With the chief of police?"

He waved his hand in my direction. "Not a big deal. Be ready to go in twenty minutes?" Deacon asked as he shoved his breakfast into his mouth.

A few minutes later I heard the shower running and couldn't help myself. I pushed my way into the small room as steam clouded up the mirror. I had a wide, nervous smile on my face. I could hear Deacon whistling as he washed himself in the stall. I tugged the shower curtain back and he gave a small jump in surprise. I looked him over as thoroughly as I could before he snapped the curtain closed again. I was able to take a mental picture of his soapy body, so I was pleased with myself. His face was astonished.

"Dammit, Cheyne! Allow me some privacy! You can have me when we get back later, before bed!" He barked.

"Fine." I whined.

He stuck a beefy arm over the top of the shower curtain, pointing toward the bathroom door.

"Out!" He commanded.

I sighed loud enough for him to hear and stomped out of the cramped washroom. I could hear him chuckling behind me.

When Deacon was dressed and ready to go, I had already been waiting for several minutes. The big man looked me over and glowered.

"That what you're wearing?" He asked.

I ducked my head to verify I was in fact fully clothed. "Uh, yup. Shoes, pants, shirt, jacket. That's me dressed."

Deacon made a sound like exasperation. "Look, I don't know how to say this delicately but, you look like you have sex for money."

I shrugged and lifted my hands at the comment. "Well, I do Deacon. So... there's that." I said.

"You don't have any other, more, professional-looking clothes to wear?" He asked expectantly.

"Nope, sorry. I've never had any reason to wear anything else and can't really afford to buy clothes just for fun." I shot him a look of annoyance.

"Well, we're getting you something to wear then." Deacon said with finality.

"If it's that important I guess. Seems dumb to me." I groused.

"Just listen to me, okay?" Deacon said as he pulled the front door open, motioning me out of the apartment.

Deacon took me to the local department store where we found our way to the clothing section. Scabarethen sizes for clothes were near the back of most of the racks. We're usually leaner and taller through the legs and arms although slightly shorter than humans overall. Nothing was especially expensive or high-quality fabric. Just as well, I wouldn't feel like myself in anything too formal, and then of course there was the price to consider.

Deacon found a pair of beige pants near my size and held them out to me.

"No, I won't be wearing those." I sniffed.

"What's wrong with them? They're nice." Deacon said in a confused voice as he looked them over.

"They're ugly." I replied. "If I need new pants, I can get some jeans."

"Jeans aren't really interview clothes." Deacon informed me.

"I don't care. You wear them every day to work!" I countered.

He rolled his eye. "Fine, but a nice pair then."

I crossed my arms, pleased with the compromise. "Done."

It took a little over an hour to find a couple pairs of jeans we could both agree on and two shirts that buttoned up, had collars, and weren't too tight-fitting or suggestive. I was allowed to keep on the shoes I was already wearing. The new clothes were going to eat up the rest of my money situation but Deacon wouldn't allow me to pay. It pissed me off.

"I'm the one that made you get new clothes, it's only right that I buy them for you." He said stubbornly.

"You don't need to buy me clothes! It's not like we're a couple." I said petulantly. I wondered if he would correct my statement.

"Well regardless, I'm paying for them. If you still feel you have to pay me back, we'll wait until you get your first paycheck." He said firmly.

The lady at the counter eyed us carefully. She didn't know what to make of the pair of us, the big brute with the scarred face and the young scab dressed like a slut. I shot her a venomous look and she turned away to focus on ringing up the purchase.

On the way out of the store Deacon had me stop at the restrooms to change. I tucked my old clothes into the large bag with the other shirt and pants Deacon had purchased. When I emerged again he broke into a wide smile.

"What's with the smile?" I asked. "Yay, I look like everyone else." I added sardonically.

"You look nice, Cheyne, handsome." He said.

His words took me by surprise and I blushed.

"Thank you." I said quietly.

Deacon tousled my long hair in a fatherly way.

Deacon took me to the precinct, the marshall and police headquarters on Ganymede. It wasn't terribly large, a two-story dark grey and blue building nestled at the end of a short road about halfway between main street and the shadier parts of town. He lead me inside where a uniformed officer sat behind a desk. He looked us over as we approached.

"Hey Deacon, pretty late in today aren't you?" The shorter officer asked.

"Had some errands to run." Deacon responded.

The fellow behind the desk shifted his attention to me. "This the guy for the assistant's position? Doesn't look like a cop to me." He gave me a skeptical once-over.

Deacon rubbed the back of his neck as he gave the man an uncomfortable look. "Well, he's not, but Abby says she needs an assistant. At this point, she just needs someone who can handle the work, they don't necessarily need to be a cop."

"If you say so, Deac." Replied the man at the desk dubiously.

"Give me a break, Reynolds, just let her know we're here." Deacon said sternly.

Reynolds pressed a button on the console before him and informed the chief that I would be interviewing with her. While they had a brief exchange over the intercom, Deacon turned me away to speak with me privately.

"Okay, listen, it's going to be just like any other job interview more or less." He said.

"Right, well, I've never been on an actual job interview." I responded.

"Crap." Deacon said. "Well, be respectful, but don't suck up. Just be yourself, well, be a nicer version of yourself." He decided.

"Thanks for that." I said dryly.

"You'll be fine. Oh, here she comes. I'll keep your extra clothes with me, I have a locker." Deacon said as we both turned around.

The chief was a human woman who looked about fifty. She was quite tall and looked imposing. She was smartly dressed in a police uniform and moved with a strong presence. She was intimidating to behold.

"Chief Abigail Holden." She introduced herself, rigidly offering her hand.

I reached out and shook it, she had a strong grip. "Cheynex, son of Cerasbek." I informed her. "Most people call me Cheyne." I added.

"That's fine. What happened to your head, Cheyne?" She asked, nodding to the greenish bruise on my forehead.

I was taken aback by her candor. "Oh, I, well--" I started but was cut off by Deacon.

"Those men that I brought in a while ago, one of them did this." He said.

"Hm, it looks fresher than that." She mused. There was no pulling the wool over this woman's eyes.

"Guess I'm just a slow healer." I offered lamely.

Holden regarded me but didn't push further. "Follow me to my office, Cheyne. Deacon, you can see me after."

"Good luck, kid." Deacon said. He tilted his hat to the chief and left us in the front of the building.

Chief Holden lead me back to her office which was a fairly cramped room with a large desk, her seat on the far side where she moved now and two seats on this side. I sat in one of them and glanced around the office. It wasn't very comfortable feeling to me, that is to say, it felt official, impersonall. There was one sad-looking plant in a corner of the room, struggling for life, a fan overhead droning quietly and a stack of papers towering on one side of the heavy desk. As my eyes made their full sweep I noticed that there were papers on the floor in boxes at the sides of the desk as well.

"So, what do you know about the job?" She asked, getting straight to the point.

"I just know it's an assistant job?" I asked.

"Glorified secretary." She corrected me. "My bosses have been on my case to stop filing my reports in paper, really, doing everything on paper. Well, I like paper. I like the way it feels, I like that you can't hack into it." She explained.

"Actually I do too." I said.

"Oh?" Chief Holden asked.

"I, like to draw sometimes, I have a sketchbook, I guess it's not the same." I said quietly. I felt stupid for bringing it to her attention.

She gave little reaction. "Well, what you would be doing here is helping me transfer files onto our computers since apparently that makes more sense to everyone else." She informed me.

"Sure, that shouldn't be difficult." I said easily. "Though if it's everything in this office it will take time."

"There's also a storage room in the back full of boxes." She gave me a level gaze.

"That's no problem, just take even more time." I shrugged.

"You don't have any law enforcement background do you?" She asked, folding her hands on her desk, she leaned forward expectantly.

"Uh, no, I don't." I admitted.

"Pity." She frowned slightly. "There will be a lot of jargon in much of this that you won't understand and I don't have time to explain it to you. The whole reason I need an assistant is because of how busy we are here, and understaffed."

"Isn't the reason because the reports weren't handled by device and input into your computers at the time they were written?" It wasn't until after I had said it that I realized it sounded like I was openly insulting her.

Chief Holden set her jaw and leaned back in her chair. "Maybe so, Cheyne."

"Sorry!" I said. "I didn't mean to be rude, I was just thinking out loud!" I was hot with embarrassment.

"I appreciate honesty, I also appreciate your apology." She remarked. "In case you were wondering, this interview isn't going well."

I let out a sigh. "I know. I don't know why Deacon was pushing so hard for this."

She tapped her fingers together thoughtfully. "Well, it's fortunate that he did, young man. You can have the job, until you screw it up, if you want it."

"I'm sorry?" I was incredulous.

"In all my years I've never met anyone with better instincts than Henry Deacon." Holden explained. "When he said you'd be perfect for the job, I was skeptical, since you don't have the background, but I trust him, so, you can start next week. I'll have to get another desk moved in, set you up with a console."